


Fame (Remember My Name)

by Miss_TeaDDK



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Achilles is talented, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Fame, I just wanted an AU where Patroclus could shine too, Inspired by Music, M/M, Music, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Pat & Antilochus are best friends, Pat & Briseis are best friends, Patroclus is talented, Secrets, SingerAU!, The darker side of fame, Yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29698200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_TeaDDK/pseuds/Miss_TeaDDK
Summary: After his cruel father signs a long-term contract, Patroclus is legally barred from singing like he loves- in front of anyone, ever, and certainly not in front of Achilles, the future face of Phthia Music Entertainment. So long as Patroclus can keep his mouth shut, every other door is open to him (and away from his home-life).However, as the relationship between Patroclus and Achilles blossoms over time, so does another yearning- a yearning to beseen, to belistenedto, have hisownvoice heard, by his lover, and soon, the music world.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus, Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After months, I'm finally writing this SingerAU!! I have dreamt of this moment. 
> 
> Gotta be honest though- is this totally indulgent? it IS! Completely! I don't know anything about the music world, how people get recordings, contracts, etc., so this isn't going to be a very technical fic if that's what you're looking for- just me writing from songs that I listen to, that I want my favorite characters to sing! 
> 
> WARNING: Menoetius is an abusive parent. There's nothing graphic, but it obvious that he's no good.

The halls leading to the auditorium where the auditions were being held were large, dark, and looming, the chill from the AC leaving the space cold and uninviting. Every footstep on the tiled floor echoed, overwhelming, crashing into Patroclus like waves. The acoustics of the space were perfectly designed to project sound, but only served in intimidating the fifteen-year-old even more than his father already was.

Menoetius squeezed his wrist, painfully twisting it as he dragged Patroclus toward the line of people waiting for their turn to audition for Phthia Music Entertainment . A large, solidly built man, there was nothing a scrawny Patroclus could do when Menoetius shoved the forms into his hands, gripping his shoulders so that he couldn’t run. They arrived at the tail end of the auditions, so the line was relatively short in comparison to when it had looped around the block, full of avid singers and performers ready to take their chance in front of some of the most fame-making men that existed in the entertainment industry.

“You will not embarrass me, boy,” his father hissed. “You will get up there, and you will sing like your life depends on it.”

Patroclus didn’t deny that his life did depend on it. He can’t believe his father ever caught him singing, how could he have been so careless? It was supposed to be a secret, something that he did to soothe his ailing mother.

“Sing for Mommy, Pat, my dearest,” she would whisper during the times she was lucid, and Patroclus would oblige, singing a simple song from her oldies hits or from musicals that she would find pleasing. It had been their secret because Menoetius hated music and the arts. Everything that he wanted out of a son- strength, machismo, sports-savvy- his son lacked, and more often than not it was taken out on him after a bad workday or a night out drinking. Still, Menoetius was no fool- the moment he’d kicked down the door to Patroclus soothing his mother, he realized he had raw talent in his possession. And for him, talent meant _money,_ something he was also severely lacking in. Good fortune arrived in the form of Phthia Music Entertainment scoping for new voices, and he’d filled out the paperwork and put the fear of the gods into a shy Patroclus before forcing him into the car.

He didn’t _want_ to sing for others, especially not at the whim of his father. The singing was for him and Mommy.

Patroclus is trying to sink further into himself when the loveliest voice he’s ever heard chimes like bells across the hall, singing.

_Someday I'll wish upon a star_

_And wake up where the clouds are far behind me_

_Where troubles melt like lemon drops_

_Away above the chimney tops, that's where you'll find me-_

The voices rumbling are immediately silenced by its pure quality. Despite the unusually cheerful delivery, the sureness of each note is so concrete that no one would dare have the nerve to interrupt. The only noise that comes afterwards is a scoff, followed by a sharp feminine voice.

“Really, Achilles, I don’t understand why you want to audition with so simple a song.”

“Because Father likes that song, Mother. And so do I.”

Patroclus leans over a little and zeroes in on who’s so confidently speaking. A tall, slim, and glamorous pale woman stands in a teal sundress, her sleek black hair pencil straight down her back. In front of her is a boy about his age, and Patroclus’ heart stutters.

“Hmph. Surely, we could find you something else. I had an entire list of options. It’s just Odysseus, Menelaus and Agamemnon, so I understand it’s not so serious, but still-”

Where Patroclus’ hair is a curling mahogany mess, the kid- Achilles? - hair is a blond with suggestions of red, burning like fire down past his ears. That hair moves as he shrugs nonchalantly.

“I saw your options, Mother, and you know I love you, but I wanted to sing something special for him, too.”

Where his skin was naturally copper, and his physique on the skinny side, Achilles’ skin was noticeably tanned and lean muscled, the healthy pallor of someone who constantly played outside and ate very well.

Achilles’ mother rolls her eyes fondly. “It is no matter. You’ll get the spot. I’m still furious he even dares to have you audition at all. You’re _his son,_ and you’re leagues better than anyone else here.”

Where Patroclus had inherited caramel eyes like his mother’s, Achilles had sea-green eyes, and those gorgeous eyes locked onto his. Flickering to look him up and down, he smirked.

And that was enough for Patroclus. His father couldn’t belittle him any further than that one look did.

Yanking away from a distracted, envious Menoetius, Patroclus dashes away into the deep underbelly of the audition hall. He doesn’t look back, dashing up stairs, around corners, and far, far away from the judgment of the world. The pounding of blood in his ears is the only thing he’s cognizant of until he opens an unlocked door and trips over something, colliding into the ground.

“Damn it. Damn it!” he cries, the pain from his bruised arms and knees combining with his frustration and humiliation at the entire situation. He curls up into a ball and begins to silently sob. Why? _Why?_ Why did he have to be here? Why did he have to do this when he never wanted to? Why did he have to suffer looks from some unknown, pompous, uppity boy he’d never met before that made him feel every inch the failure his father made him feel?

After a couple minutes, his tears run dry and he wipes his face. The catharsis is short-lived, as he fills with the raw fear of knowing that he’ll have to head back to face his father’s wrath. Knowing how bad that’s going to be, Patroclus decides to take his time going back. He’s already committed the sin of embarrassing Menoetius, of disobeying him, so there’s no point in rushing. _In fact,_ he thinks, standing up and looking around, _this could be a short adventure to tell Mommy about._

He realizes that he’s fallen into one of the unused sound booths in the auditorium, tripping over stray wiring. When he reaches the glass, he can see down into where three men sit at a long table, surrounded by papers and laptops. His stomach clenches when he sees Achilles, confidently standing in the middle of the stage, adjusting the mic.

“Aren’t you going to greet your elders? I’ve had you and your father over for multiple beers and sandwiches, we’re practically family,” one of the judges, with olive skin and dark hair, teases.

“Apologies, Odysseus.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” the other man grunts. “We know full well the line up that Peleus is going to pick, with Thetis breathing down his neck. Is she in here too?”

The man in the middle tries to swallow his bubbling laughter. “No, she’s in the hall listening in. She’s been told she can’t come in, which I’m sure will be an issue later. But, Agamemnon, we still have to give him the time of day.”

“Menelaus-”

“You should listen to your brother. We have to properly audition everyone who walks in.” Odysseus still speaks lightly, but it is obvious that he is not to be trifled with as Agamemnon huffs back in his seat.

They go through all the formalities, and Patroclus watches in begrudging awe as Achilles fields each question, his posture never wavering. The longer he watches, the more he realizes- Achilles’ mother was perfectly right to be confident in him. Despite his youth, he stands and communicates like someone who has been trained for years, like it’s his birthright- a star in the making.

Patroclus would have never beaten him.

Surprisingly, once he gets over that fact, it becomes easier to observe the entire situation with a little more enthusiasm and intrigue. From the little he can understand, it seems that Achilles must be the son of Thetis and Peleus, and Peleus is the owner of Phthia Music Entertainment . _How strange_ , he ponders, _to make your own son audition._ He concludes that Peleus must be an honest man, but that’s even more impressive- in being such an honest man, he must also realize that his son can and will win this spot.

He’s ready to see why, antsy with anticipation when Achilles goes to sing his first song. He knows it’s _Over the Rainbow_ , so he’s unprepared when he sees the transformation occur in front of him. Despite the simplicity of the song, Achilles seems to light up with the stage, his voice no longer the playful lilt it was when he was showing off in the hall. He’s not just singing, he’s performing, and if there were a larger audience they would be just as floored as the other people were in the hall. Patroclus is shocked to see the three men simply nodding, though Odysseus’ body language still remains cheerful.

“Peleus truly loves that song. Perhaps you’re too young to know why,” he comments, jotting down notes. “Still, while we love it, I think I want to hear something else.”

Patroclus snorts when Achilles’ eyes light up indignantly with the challenge, as if stunned that the one song wasn’t enough.

“Okay?”

“Hm… since we’re doing nostalgic songs, have you ever learned _Summertime_? Ella Fitzgerald’s version, I mean.”

“ _Summertime_?” Achilles looks even more bemused, and Odysseus mischievously leans in.

“Indeed. From a terribly racist opera, so I won’t fault you if you’ve never seen that, but the many renditions of this song are classic, that version being one of my favorites.”

“I… I have not learned it, actually, but I’ve heard it.”

Odysseus’ body shifts back dramatically, exaggerating his pretend shock.

“How unfortunate for you! It’s such a lovely song, too.”

Fists clenching, Achilles scowls. “Give me something else! I can do it! I know I can! It’s just one song!”

“Fair enough. I was just in the mood for something in a… different sort of soulful.”

Patroclus doesn’t realize that he’s mirrored Achilles’ body language until he begins to giggle, his fists unclenching as he laughs. _Look at that, Achilles, there’s something I know that you don’t._ The song was one of his Mommy’s favorites, and it had been a long time ago when she sung it for him.

It’s been a long time since she’s sang an entire song.

He watches as Achilles is offered another song, a more modern, upbeat one that he knows, and in his relaxation, he belts it out at the top of his lungs. He even goes so far as to move away from the mic, swaying his body and putting on a small show. By the end, all three men are clapping lightly, and even Patroclus is giving him slow claps.

“Well done, Achilles.” He turns to face the door, sighing. “At least someone got something good out of this shitshow today.”

With that, he leaves the small booth. The lowering sun burns into his eyes, and he flinches away from the light as he tries to remember how he got to where he was in his panic. As he makes his way down some back stairs, he mindlessly thinks about Odysseus’ words. The man was right; the song was a classic, known for how many different meanings the song can have based on how it was sung. Deep in thought, he finds himself singing.

_Summertime_

_And the livin' is easy_

_Fish are jumpin'_

_And the cotton is high_

_Oh, your daddy's rich_

_And your ma' is good lookin'_

_So, hush_

_Little baby_

_Don't you cry_

The acoustics that intimidated him so much earlier now seem to envelope him in his own voice, the mellow tones of the pensive song reverberating and amplifying his presence. He slowly sways to the imaginary trumpet and violins in his head, stepping and spinning around like Achilles had on the stage as he hums in between some of the lines. It’s a little exciting in secret, he has to admit; the idea that someone would want to hear him, little old Patroclus. 

_One of these mornings_

_You're gonna rise up singing_

_Yes, you'll spread your wings_

_And you'll take to the sky_

_But 'til that mornin'_

_There's nothin' can harm you_

_Yes, with Daddy and Mommy_

_Standing by_

Patroclus knows why Odysseus had chosen to pick at Achilles with this particular song. It was evident to anyone that Achilles was completely different stock from him- innocent in a way, a child with all the trimmings of a happy life and a successful future- and yet, the singer needs to be someone like _Patroclus_ , someone who can truly empathize with the unspoken, desperate hope behind the person crooning this child to sleep. It was a veiled barb calling him ‘sheltered’, and the recipient was too naïve to see it. As he finishes the last chorus, the last note in the word _cry_ slowly fading down the halls, he comes across a door leading to a small garden full of flowers and a little fountain.

 _I’ll grab some flowers for Mommy,_ Patroclus thinks, humming. _She’ll be happy. I can hide them in my back pocket._

Caught in his warm thoughts, he completely misses Thetis’ stone-still figure, leaning against one of the open windows toward the garden.

* * *

Her son is flawless.

If there’s one truth in this world, Thetis knows it is that.

As much as she hates Peleus, the one good thing he’d ever given her had been her cherub of a baby boy, with his golden locks, his strength, and his perfect health, and most importantly- the voice of a star.

From the moment he began singing little songs in front of her from his music classes, everyone knew that Achilles was special. He was never shy, he learned quickly, and was practically in love with the stage. His presence was inherited from his mother, who was once an opera singer herself. Audiences would silence just from her mere glance; naturally, they should quail in the presence of her son, who after years of versatile training was ready to take the first steps toward stardom. If her foolish husband hadn’t decided to be ‘fair’, to audition him with the dregs of society like everyone else, to ‘give him more of a childhood than either of us had’, Achilles would already be well into the studio by now.

And now, Thetis watches as it all is threatened by a ragamuffin, a waif of a child that seemed to mock her as he sang the song that those bastards mocked her Achilles with.

The worst part was that this boy seemed completely unaware of his talent, hopping goofily down the hall and right past her. His voice was lower than Achilles, yet his delivery was smooth, perfectly mournful, his perfect pitch drawing her in as she wondered where the lovely, crooning voice was coming from. He lacked her son’s charisma, for sure, and was not as coordinated or beautiful. However, with proper training, this boy could possibly threaten her son’s future. Peleus was a soft-hearted fool and was known to take on ‘extra proteges’, which would re-direct his focus - and she couldn’t have that.

As she wonders what to do, a large, uncouth man begins walking toward her, dark fists clenched. When he sees the boy through a window, his eyes widen with rage and he growls as he barrels toward the door.

“Hold it,” she commands, freezing him at the door. He turns to face her, baring his teeth in intimidation. Thetis only rolls her eyes; she was used to men like him, trying to make her feel less than. She holds a couple inches of height over him, not that being shorter would have made his barbaric glance any more effective.

“That boy out there- that’s your son?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You brought him here to audition?”

“Why else would I bring him here? They’ve got a few more minutes, they can hear the fucking brat sing.”

It’s clear that the man hates the child, but the answer reveals to her a greed that won’t be so easily removed by simply stalling for time. No, she needs an option that removes this child from the equation altogether.

“Hm. Do you know who I am?”

“Should I?”

The insolence! Thetis wants to slap some respect into him, but she simply tightens her fist in agitation.

“My husband owns Phthia Music Entertainment . My son was the one who made yours run out of the room in rightful humiliation today.”

It’s a win on her end; the man flinches, tossing a hateful glance out of the window.

“You have quite the son. Any man would be envious.”

“Of course they would. Question- is it the money?”

“What?”

“Don’t be a fool… you-” She impatiently waves a hand in his direction, and the man swallows.

“Menoetius.”

“Right. Don’t be a fool, Menoetius. Is it the money that is making you audition him?”

“You think you’re so smart, woman- why else would I? His mother has a brain disease, and the boy is worthless otherwise- both of them weights in my pockets.”

_So, it’s not care for his future. Well, this, I can handle._

“I’ll pay for your wife’s medical costs. Take him and leave this audition.”

Menoetius’ eyes fill with avarice at her offer, but then he purses his lips and shakes his head.

“No. The woman can’t be saved, anyway. That does nothing for me.” He looks back out at his own son, selfishness twisting his expression. “Send him off to some school. I know you’ve got the money. Take him off my hands and pay me yearly to keep me quiet. For every year I get a check, it’s another year I’ll re-sign whatever it is to keep him that way.”

Disgust ripples over Thetis’ expression. “Absolutely not.”

“Then I’ll be taking him now.”

Before he opens the door, Thetis death grips his shoulder.

“Fine,” she hisses. “But if at any point he opens his lips, the deal is off.”

Menoetius grins. “We have a deal then. I’ll see it in writing.”

* * *

Patroclus wanders out of the garden, the flowers stuffed into his shirt. His father can’t crush them if he can’t see them, and hopefully this will keep them intact enough. The last of his leftover nerve wavers as he approaches familiar territory, the doors to the auditorium in sight. Even though he has accepted his fate, it doesn’t stop the violent wracking of his body, and he collapses to his knees.

 _Get it together, Pat,_ he hisses to himself. _Just…stand up!_

He’s so trapped in his inner monologue that he doesn’t notice when someone leans over him.

“Is my presence so magnificent that you can’t even stand?”

Achilles’ smug voice is the last thing that Patroclus needs right now- even if it is a pretty voice. His smarmy look morphs into one of concern when he sees the Patroclus genuinely cannot rise, and he goes to lift his arm. Flinching, Patroclus leans away, raw fear in his eyes for a moment before he realizes what he’s done.

“I’ve got it.” After a moment, Patroclus stands up, catching his breath. Achilles watches curiously, but before he can open his mouth, Patroclus cuts him off. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” A small pause. “So, did you come here to audition today?” he asks awkwardly.

Patroclus considers lying, and it just feels too difficult. “No. I didn’t,” he softly replies. 

“Uh huh. I assume that’s why you ran away earlier, then?”

The blunt questions are exhausting already, and his shoulders droop as Patroclus drearily looks Achilles in the eye. They’re the same height, which is interesting for him to note considering how small Achilles had made him feel before.

“Something like that. Why are you here?”

“I’m waiting for my mother. You?”

“For Meno- my father.”

“Okay.” 

Unsure what comes over him, Patroclus reveals his secret. “I saw you audition today. You sang very well.”

Confusion wrinkles Achilles’ face as he tries to understand. “How? The auditions were closed, for everyone. Unless- you were that noise! I heard something crash before, and I just dismissed it, but you really were there!”

“I’m sorry! I had just run away, and I wasn’t sure where I ended up, and… then I heard you start, and I wanted to see. I didn’t record it or anything.”

“You’d better not have!” When he notices Patroclus flinch at his tone, Achilles seems to understand and calms down. “As long as you didn’t do that, it’s fine. You don’t- you can calm down, now. I’m, uh- I’m Achilles.”

He places a gentle, soothing hand on Patroclus’ shoulder, and Patroclus slowly loosens under his touch, giving him a small smile.

“Patroclus. You were supposed to be an asshole, you know. Giving me that awful look earlier. You’re not supposed to be patting my shoulder or talking to me.” 

Pouting, Achilles pretends to wonder what he’s talking about. “Asshole? Me? A look? I don’t remember anything like that!”

“Yes, you do! You looked at me like I was dirt!” Patroclus shoves him lightly.

“Well, that was then! Now I’m not looking at you that way!”

They both break into childish giggles, and Achilles wipes a tear away.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “You don’t look like dirt. Actually, I-” His skin gains a pretty blush. “I think your eyes are pretty.”

Blushing in return, Patroclus runs a hand through his hair. “Oh. Thank you. Um. Yours are pretty, too.”

Pressing his chest up proudly, Achilles smiles, pointedly looking away. “I know.”

Patroclus scoffs, and opens his mouth to speak until the sound of heavy footsteps and heels begin to approach them. Achilles turns pointedly toward his mother, but frowns when he sees Patroclus immediately shrink on himself, eyes downcast.

“Come, Achilles.” Thetis commands, breezing past them both, her perfume lingering. Achilles turns back and sees a look on Patroclus’ father’s face that freezes him to his soul. The man stands about a foot away from his son, overbearing and displeased.

“Patroclus,” he whispers, placing his hand on the small of his back. “Did you want my phone number?” He looks up at the man, his face firm. “I’ve invited Patroclus over for video games, I’d like to see him again.”

“Don’t worry, young man,” the man replies, smiling sinisterly. “You’ll see a lot more of him soon enough.”

 _What does that mean?_ They both wonder. Patroclus grabs Achilles’ hand, giving a half-hearted squeeze.

“Go. I’ll be okay.”

“But-”

_“Just go.”_

“ _Achilles!_ Let’s go!”

Patroclus leans away, giving him a sad smile. “See ya later, Achilles. It was nice to meet you.”

* * *

Patroclus and his father are almost out of sight when Achilles sees some small, crumpled flowers on the ground. Despite his mother’s disapproving glare, he moves forward to pick them up, scooping them into his pocket. He rushes to her side, out to the limo that has been waiting on them for some time.

“I hope you don’t think that boy is someone worth remembering,” Thetis comments, picking stray lint off of her dress. “Put him out of your mind and get rid of those silly flowers. I’ll certainly put that horrible man out of mine.”

But Achilles can’t put Patroclus out of his mind. From the moment he’d seen him in that hall, his heart had been pounding non-stop. Gorgeous, dark curly hair, copper skin, and those beautiful, unusually light eyes- it made him break character, he had to sing a little bit. He wanted the boy to know him, to look at him, and when he had eye contact, he’d tried to give him a nonchalant glance- _oh, you saw me?_ Instead, he just made him run away. It wasn’t until later, when he caught Patroclus again, that he realized that those eyes carried an immense sadness.

And now, Patroclus was gone, left with some cryptic message suggesting he may see him again.

He hopes he does see him again; he likes this warm, giddy feeling he has in his chest from seeing him. Smiling ear to ear, he curls up in the seat and stares out the window, singing a new song to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've never heard [Summertime](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ii_YKr5UhAU&ab_channel=LouisArmstrong-Topic) with Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, that is a shame and I'm going to fix that for you with this link! 
> 
> Also, if you want to know how I picture Patroclus, I found this awesome art on tumblr, creator meggsssart [HERE](https://tododeku-or-bust.tumblr.com/post/643747557517950976/i-screaming-this-is-exactly-how-i-imagine) that is pretty much what I've always seen- enjoy and support them!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patroclus gets a fresh start at Mt.Pelion's, meets a new friend, and gets his potential properly recognized for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: The first chunk is of Menoetius abusing Patroclus. It's nothing too detailed, but it could probably be upsetting. In summary, he tells him about the deal he made with Thetis in a threatening manner. If you want to skip, just go down to the first ---- separation line and read from there. 
> 
> Also, note: these songs are going to be out of chronological order from real life, because it's my indulgent AU and I want them to be 🤷🏾♀️. 'Ultraluminary' was from 'Over the Moon' in 2020, but I want it to exist now before other songs that come later because yes.

That day Menoetius had beaten him black and blue once he’d gotten home. Foul words were said, and even fouler punches thrown, and all Patroclus could do after a while was curl up and take it. So, when Menoetius had held him up and tossed him into a chair, he was sure that more verbal abuse about ‘embarrassment’ and ‘undeserving of life’ was to follow. Instead, Menoetius offered him an out.

“You’re going to go to some fancy school that Thetis will enroll you in. You and _that boy_ ,” he hisses with disgust. “Will end up going to the same school. You won’t be showing your ugly face around here ever again. In exchange for her paying for your schooling, you are not allowed to sing even one fucking note around anyone else. You stay silent, I get paid, you get out of this house. Everyone wins. Do you understand?”

Patroclus doesn’t, and his voice quivers. “If I don’t sing… I can go to school with Achilles?”

“And I get paid. Let me make this clear, you shit- if you ruin any part of this, if you even let a sound slip from your throat, she will cancel it all, including my checks. She does that, and I will tear that fucking tongue right out of your mouth. Understand? There is no life for you after that.”

When Patroclus doesn’t answer quickly, Menoetius twitches toward him, causing him to cower.

_“Do you understand?”_

_“I understand!_ But-” He takes a deep breath to collect his thoughts. “What about Mommy?” 

Scoffing, Menoetius turns away. “I’ll use some of that money to keep her alive. Of course, you don’t keep up your end, she dies as well.”

The thought is horrifying. “Can I at least visit her?”

“What the fuck ever.”

It’s almost a dream come true, and Patroclus is quick to take it. Whatever lies he must keep up with in order to ensure that Achilles, and no one else, ever finds out he can sing he will keep up with. _Anything_ to get out of this house and away from his father, and to keep his mother alive.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Get out of my sight.”

When Patroclus finally scatters into his room, locking the door and jumping under the covers, for some reason he vaguely remembers the flowers that he was supposed to give his mother.

That night, Patroclus silently sobbed until exhaustion, his emotions on overdrive. There were the old tears of course, of an old sadness and dismay at the lack of love and support from his abusive father. There were some new tears, of frustration and hate that his life meant so little to Menoetius that he could essentially sell his voice in exchange for money. And then finally, there were tears of confusion and hope- he was getting out. He was leaving, going to a new school, where people like Achilles- and Achilles himself- attended! Patroclus wasn’t going to give Menoetius the satisfaction of true graciousness- he didn’t deserve a lick of it- but if there was a chance to make something of himself, this was it! 

* * *

Mt. Pelion Private School for Boys stood imperiously in front of Patroclus, and the only thing stopping him from turning away from its large black gates was the stronger desire to get away from the raggedy car that dropped him, his bookbag, two suitcases, and two bins off, waiting impatiently to peel away. He drifts mindlessly as an administrator comes to gather him while someone takes his things, leading him to the office to officially sign him in, and then to his new dorm room. Even the cheapest of the dorms in this school were a good size, and Patroclus was in a suite style dorm- two rooms, one bathroom, one shared communal space. The administrator rattles off the dorm rules, as well as a list of resources that he can reach out to in case he has questions. When they leave, he takes it all in- the space is small, just enough room for a bed, a desk, and a large wardrobe- and Patroclus is in love.

He flops onto the pre-made bed, squeezing the soft pillow, and inhaling its clean scent. It’s easy to unpack; he didn’t have much to his name anyway, so it was easy to put the brand-new uniforms in the wardrobe, the rest of his clothes in the small drawers, and to put the school supplies in the desk and plug in his gently used laptop. Despite the bareness of it, Patroclus is undeterred- there was just so much potential; he can do whatever he wants with this room! It’s so exciting he could sing-

And then he shoves his hands over his mouth, dread searing through him. Menoetius’ cruel face flashes, and he swallows his lack of control, shoving it into his heart. One slipped note, just one fuck up, and his mother is out of that brand new facility, and he’s sent back home into the literal clutches of death.

 _Do better_ , he rages at himself. Just as he’s calming down from his near slip, a sharp knock rings at the door. Old reflexes leave him tense, and after reminding himself that he 1) is not at home and 2) has a peephole that he can check, he opens the door to another student. This kid is a full head shorter than him, tan, covered in freckles amplified by his large glasses, and his brown wavy hair is up in a messy ponytail that shivers as he excitedly grins at Patroclus. If he could use the word ‘beach bum’ to describe someone, this person was it for sure.

“Dude! I’m your roommate!”

“Uh… okay?” This level of interpersonal communication is not something Patroclus is used to, and his roommate flounders only momentarily before trying again with a bright smile.

“Name’s Antilochus! What’s yours?”

“Patroclus.”

“Nice! Can I call you Pat?”

Replying ‘only my Mommy calls me Pat’ sounds lame even in his own inner monologue, so Patroclus nods instead.

“Neat! Nice to meet you, Pat! I noticed you’re new, so I was actually going to invite you to come hang out and get a snack? Those tours they give you here are boring, but I know the in’s and outs of this place and can show you around.”

Antilochus is overwhelming, an extrovert to his core. Patroclus wants to tell him no, that he wants to cozy up on his new bed and bask in the silence. However, it is very true that he ignored just about everything the administrator had told him, and he can sense that having Antilochus as a friend will reap more benefits than regrets.

“Sure, okay. Thanks.”

Antilochus seems to gain an energy boost right in front of him from the affirmative, and his eyes glow as he claps his hands together. Noticing Patroclus’ fearful response, he sensibly pulls his hands apart.

“No loud noises?”

Grimacing, Patroclus shakes his head. “No.”

“No worries,” Antilochus gently amends. “You’re a guy that needs his quiet, I can respect that. I’ll let you get cleaned up, and then we can head out in an hour?”

“Sounds good. Thanks, man.”

The tour of Mt. Pelion’s that Antilochus takes him on is indeed much more exciting. They start at the main mess hall, grabbing snacks to take on what turns out to be the beginning of a long walk. Even the honey crisp apple tastes better than anything he’s ever eaten as Antilochus explains the dining hours.

“The scrambled eggs? And the days when they make bacon too? Top tier. Those are days you have to get here early, or they’ll run out. I’m talking _lines_ , Pat. But, if you can’t make it here, there are two more tiny stores in these locations-”

He points out the other food locations as they pass the athletic center. While the center is mainly for gym classes, it also serves as a practice location for all of the sports teams, and there’s a fitness center inside that is allowed to be used by any of the boys when it’s not being reserved by the teams.

“I’m trying to gain some muscle this year, so people who try to pick at me for being short can’t ignore these guns, Pat! I’m going to get some of the guys together to go; you ought to come with us!”

“Sure.” He’s never really been good at sports (nor does he intent to start now) but he’s always loved the idea of using a treadmill, and he’s got some new shoes with his gym uniform. Antilochus beams, elated with his new workout buddy.

The sprawling green that lays in between dining and the academic campus is full of students, some laid back on picnic blankets with visitors from other schools (girls, to note) while others played frisbee golf or ran with their families’ dogs. It’s only a seven-minute walk across the green, but Patroclus is floored- he’s never really seen so much free space, been surrounded by so much _money_ before. His school at home was inner city and underfunded, where he was still mainly ignored by everyone around him, but that was because of who he was, and not because he was so noticeably _not_ rich.

When they reach the academic campus, they make their way to the four-story library. The stoic white walls and deep brown bookshelves are balanced by the presence of the latest technology, boys all surrounding the desktops and lining up at the printers, whispers a constant around them.

“For some classes, study groups meet up in these rooms- it’s pretty cool, and I know we share a couple courses, we could study together!”

Antilochus points out the buildings that Patroclus will take his sophomore classes in, but it is when they’re passing the music building that he really gains energy.

“I love the music and arts building! Not only is it gorgeous on the inside, but there’s so much to pick from! Art? Theatre? Musicals? Amazing. Our program is top notch. Right now, I work sound for the musicals, and when I graduate, I want to go into music production! I’ve been practicing on this amazing software right now, but unfortunately, it’s not something they teach in high school. It’s fine though, I’m ahead of the game. I come here to listen to some of the performances and sample volunteer’s music for beats. Is there something you like to do, Pat?”

His voice wanes as he notices the wistful expression on Patroclus’ face as he stares at the beautiful stain glass doors leading into the building. “Pat?”

“Hm? Oh. No. I can’t- sing, I mean. I can’t sing.” His face is mysteriously sad, and Antilochus senses that there must be more behind the answer. Still, it’s not his business- he just met Patroclus- so he tries to nonchalantly brush it off.

“Meh. Understandable. We can’t all be Achilles around here.”

Patroclus turns, gasping. “You know him?”

Eyebrows raising, Antilochus glances humorously at Patroclus. “He’s in our grade. He’s not here all the time; a lot of times he takes his classes online while he’s off watching his mom tour or doing whatever the really rich and famous get to do while they go to school. But when he’s here on campus, everyone is always around him. He’s trying to be famous one day, and he’s taken the Mt. Pelion choir and Mt. Pelion acapella team to nationals twice since he’s been here. He’s pretty awesome, and his voice is amazing! I want to sample him personally, and I asked, but he told me no. He said that he’s going to be worth money one day and his mom says he can’t just give it away.”

The resulting pout from the expectable answer is adorable, and Patroclus can’t help but chuckle. “And how did that make you feel?”

“Like he was a right asshole!” Antilochus tosses his head back in laughter. “But you know, it makes sense in a way. I got over it. One day I’ll meet him in the studio, and then we’ll see who’s worth what.”

Antilochus’ explanation of Achilles fills Patroclus’ heart with mirth, though he’s also surprised to find that he’s a little sad. He’d hoped that he’d find Achilles on campus, to show him what he looks like when he’s clean and healthy and not terrified. But there was that disparity between them again- of course Achilles wouldn’t just be available to just spend time with Patroclus. He’d probably forgotten all about him.

“Let’s go inside! I heard there’s a visiting school for girls here using the auditorium this summer; St. Andromache’s, I think?”

Dragging Patroclus in behind him, Antilochus begins to rattle off the different studios and spaces, mentioning the types of classes that occurred in each room. Flashing a flirty smile to the fond upperclassman that stood at the door, Antilochus was able to take Patroclus into the sound booth over the black box theatre. A gaggle of girls in varying stages of costume all talked amongst themselves below, before the teacher began speaking through the mic.

“All right girls, we’re going to run _Ultraluminary_ one more time. Bri, make sure you’re standing where you need to. Dei- _Deidameia!_ Put that phone down! Make sure you’re dancing in line as well. Thank you!”

“Watch the magic happen!” Antilochus whispers, nudging Patroclus as he begins to pay attention to the buttons and knobs that he can’t make heads or tails of. Instead, he pays attention to the girl who begins to sing in the middle of the stage. Her skin is a milk chocolate brown, her frame broad shouldered and strong, her natural curls tied up into a pineapple on her head. The moment she steps away from the frivolity of her friends, her posture becomes more serious, closing her eyes as she sings.

_I'm the light every night in your world_

_Are you ready to watch me be legendary?_

_'Cause I'm ultraluminary-_

As the beat drops, an awe-struck Patroclus watches as the girls weave in and out of each other, singing the background vocals as ‘Bri’ begins to perform. His heart pounds as they begin to dance in earnest to the chorus, unable to help his swaying.

_Whoa, welcome to Lunaria_

_Whoa, so spectacularia_

_Whoa, super singulary_

_'Cause I'm so very, very_

_Extraordinaria_

“She’s awesome, right?” Antilochus whispers. “I heard that when she’s old enough, her old man says he’s going to take her right to Phthia Music Entertainment. I bet she’s a shoo-in, too!”

“Yeah, yeah, shh!” Patroclus hushes him, trying to focus on the routine.

_It was a desert on the moon when we arrived_

_Gathering all of my tears, heartbreak, and sighs_

_Jade made a potion ignite and turned the night_

_To a radiant city of light_

_From tears I rise_

_I rise_

The note gives him goosebumps, and for the second time that day, Patroclus is hit with an intense yearning to break into song. That yearning is then followed by an intense regret. He should have never entered the building; all he did was witness something that he would never be able to actually experience.

“Pat? Patroclus?”

The piece ends, and despite the whirlwind of emotion that Patroclus is feeling, everyone else seems to fall back into the same pattern. Unable to control his legs, Patroclus has already fled the dark room, instinctively finding the exit, and bursting out into the bright light.

“Hey Pat- you okay?”

“No, Antilochus, I’m _not_ okay!” The sharp tone makes Antilochus flinch, hurt in his eyes as he grabs his arm. Backpedaling, Patroclus tries to placate him. “I’m sorry, man. I just… I have a bad history with music, okay? It was hard to watch, is all.”

“Bad history… But you seemed so happy watching the performance.”

“I know. It’s complicated and I can’t talk about it.”

They stand in an awkward silence, before Antilochus speaks up.

“Well… I think you should do what makes you happy, man. That’s what my mom says. But- but if you’re still looking for whatever that is, that’s cool too. We don’t have to come back here.”

It’s the most empathetic anyone has ever attempted to be with him, and Patroclus can appreciate that.

“Thanks.”

Relieved, Antilochus wraps an arm around Patroclus’ shoulders. “No problem! My friend Automedon texted me- I think they’re making grilled cheeses tonight at the mess hall- let’s go get in line for one!”

* * *

It’s almost the end of his first semester when Patroclus finally sees Achilles on campus. The energy in the chilled air feels different, buzzing with a sort of excitement that he hasn’t felt since classes first began at Mt. Pelion’s.

There’s no one to feel proud of him, but he’s done exceptionally well in his classes since he first arrived- turns out, when there’s no one menacing over his shoulder every night preventing his rest, Patroclus is intelligent, attentive, and ‘a joy to have in class’. His English teacher specifically likes him, citing his poetry as some of the best he’s read from his age group in a while.

He’s walking out of the mess hall, satisfied after the scrambled eggs and bacon he stood in line at 6am for when a crowd of boys run past him. No one is ever this excited this early (especially Antilochus, who very quickly amended his group workout schedule to be in the afternoons), so something must be up. Unbothered, Patroclus puts on the headphones attached mini-iPod touch that he’d won at a raffle as he heads to class. Today they were doing scheduling, which meant that they could finally pick electives. Patroclus was determined that he would pick something like an art class.

His desk next to the second-story window shows his favorite view of campus; the frosted green being covered in the first signs of warm sunlight, when he sees that same large crowd of boys approaching. Peering down, he gasps when he sees the unmistakable shock of golden hair surrounded by the throng, the space in front of him clearing every time he steps down.

“Hey, Pat!” Antilochus rushes into the classroom. “Achilles is here!”

 _Yes, and I’m not ready!_ Blushing furiously, Patroclus sinks down into the desk, hiding his face behind his textbook so as not to be noticed when the group enters the room.

“I guess it’s good that you got that fresh undercut like I said, since you think he’s so cute and all.”

The undercut _had_ been a good idea, a gift from one of their dorm mates who was practicing with hair. His dark curls rolled like waves on the top of his head, giving him a sort of mysterious persona that Patroclus most definitely _did not_ utilize, flipping his hair out of his eyes dramatically when he was looking in the mirror.

“That is _not_ why I got it!”

Sitting in the desk next to him, Antilochus looks back and forth between the two events, before gaining a wicked grin. Patroclus knows this look; it’s the ‘pull Patroclus out of his comfort zone’ look, and glares at him.

“Don’t you dare-”

Their English teacher, Mr. Priam, calms the room down, and blessedly Achilles doesn’t turn to where he’s sat in the back. No one is looking his way at all, even when the schedule forms are passed back. There are the expected classes, math, chemistry, yet another gym class, English honors (as demanded by Mr. Priam). By the time he finishes filling out the form, there’s only room for one more course, 7th bell, and Patroclus searches on the form for whatever art class might be available. His journey is interrupted when the teacher speaks up.

“Some of you may be wondering what electives to take next semester. Of course, I think that you all definitely have spoken and unspoken talents that would be discovered through taking certain classes.”

One student raises his hand.

“It’s okay, you can say it’s Achilles,” he teases good-naturedly. “We all know that’s who you mean.”

Laughter ripples through the class as Achilles pulls his hair into a bun, nonchalantly waving off the high praises from those sitting around him. Mr. Priam rolls his eyes.

“True, Achilles is an obvious answer. But I do think all of you have potentials that deserve to be recognized. For example, I remember when Hector was in my class- you know, my son, captain of the football team, untouchable Hector that you all worship?” Rumbles abound; of course, everyone knew about Hector- he was Mt. Pelion’s golden child before Achilles, and Mr. Priam brings him up at least once a class. “Hector also likes to paint, and he joined art classes. Now he has championship rings _and_ art awards.”

Acknowledgement murmurs through the room; it was a fair connection to make.

“What about Pat?” Antilochus blurts, raising his hand. “You like his poems! What should he do?”

_Antilochus you son of a bi-_

It’s entirely too late to reach over and strangle Antilochus, and instead a petrified Patroclus is caught in the classroom’s stare when Mr. Priam turns and gives him a fond smile. He settles for screaming bloody murder in his head, pointedly avoiding the small sharp inhale from Achilles’ direction.

“I do enjoy Patroclus’ poems. They evoke a sense of soul that is wise beyond his years, a sense of passion that I personally think would thrive in music, or theatre. Songwriting, even.”

It’s a pointed suggestion, one of many that Patroclus has mastered the art of dodging from this particular teacher the entire semester. Flushing to his roots, he simply turns away, using his hair to hide his eyes.

“I think Patroclus should do it. Join a music class, I mean. He can learn an instrument and write my songs for me.”

The entire class gasps when Achilles speaks, but his eyes are completely trained on a stunned Patroclus.

“I mean, if I clearly have the singing, and he has the soul of a songwriter, I think we go together perfectly.”

With a flirty wink, Achilles turns back to the front of the class, and Antilochus begins to nudge Patroclus obnoxiously as he turns to stare at the paper on his desk.

His arm seems to move on its own as he signs up for 7th bell guitar lessons with a ‘Mr. Chiron’, and Mr. Priam smiles approvingly when he takes his form.

When the bell rings, Patroclus is relieved to see Achilles sweep out of the class, once again surrounded by his followers. Antilochus quickly jukes his hits, beaming as he runs to his next class. The cold air hits him as he walks down the side stairs and outside, and two seconds later, another body slams him into the grass. Fearful for his life, Patroclus freezes when his eyes connect with sparkling sea green ones. His body relaxes, but he groans as a grinning Achilles rolls off of him.

“What the hell, Achilles?” he moans, standing up.

“What the hell, yourself! In my class, and you didn’t say anything!”

“You haven’t even been here all semester!”

Achilles shrugs. “I get my assignments in. But anyway, this is about you- how are you, Patroclus? It’s been so long!”

Patroclus resists the urge to fiddle his fingers. “It’s been fine. School’s good.”

“I’m glad! I’m so happy to see you. You- you look good. Healthier. And I like your haircut.”

All rage at Antilochus vanishes under the compliment. “Thank you.”

“I mean it! Though-” Achilles timidly lifts the hair from in front of Patroclus’ eyes. “It sucks that it hides your pretty eyes.”

The apples of Patroclus’ cheeks redden, though he’s going to blame it on the cold. “Anyway, where’s your clique?”

“Dodged them. Wanted to find you and give you my phone number so that you can’t avoid me anymore, like you tried to today. Give it.”

When the small burner phone lands in Achilles’ hands, he looks at it as if it were a rotting banana peel.

“What is _this?”_

“Emergency phone. Don’t have enough for a real plan. I use my computer if I really need to message anyone.”

Achilles turns away, putting his number in and texting himself. “Oh, _philtatos_ , this is unacceptable,” he murmurs to himself.

“What?” Patroclus heard him mumble, but when he tried to get Achilles to clarify, the boy only flushed and shoved the phone back.

“Nothing. We’re going phone shopping this weekend. My treat. I’ll text you details. Now hurry up- you’re going to be late!”

With that, Achilles dashes across campus, running faster than anyone Patroclus had ever seen.

* * *

Under Mr. Chiron’s intense stare, Patroclus felt like every layer of himself was being peeled away. He was only in a class with five other students, some upperclassmen who paid very little attention to him otherwise, so there was no one to really take the brunt of this observation every class.

The first couple weeks are simple, learning hand and finger placement, refreshing on reading music, and practicing simple songs. To his surprise, and immense pleasure, Patroclus picks it up quickly. He enjoys the way the acoustic guitar buzzes in his hands as he plays, how it sings the notes that are barred to him. He’s tinkling away during the last couple minutes of Friday’s class when Mr. Chiron calls for his attention.

“Patroclus, I’d like to speak to you after class.”

The man’s voice is clear and to the point, and it makes Patroclus shrink in his seat as the other students leave the moment the bell rings, excited about whatever it is they have to look forward to that weekend. He takes a peek at his smartphone, the gift from Achilles still uncracked and well cared for. Of course, a notification waited from Achilles saying that he would be meeting him at his dorm and was currently discussing music with Antilochus (who texts complaining that he still can’t get a sample).

“Ahem.”

Dropping the phone into his bookbag, Patroclus looks up at the frowning man now sitting in a chair in front of him.

“Yes sir?”

Mr. Chiron gives him one more look, before folding his hands.

“Patroclus, I will start by saying you’re doing very well in my class. I think you can move to intermediate fairly confidently.”

 _Oh, oh okay that’s good news!_ “Thank you!”

“I do want to ask- why did you choose this class?”

“Sir?”

“Why did you choose this class, Patroclus?”

_Mr. Priam said I had the soul of a musician._

_Achilles said he wanted me to be his songwriter._

“I wanted to find a way to be close to music again,” he murmurs, talking to himself.

“Close to music?”

Realizing what he’s let slip, Patroclus chokes. “No! I didn’t say that! I-”

In panic, he begins to hyperventilate, and Mr. Chiron leads him through a couple breathing exercises until he can correctly breathe in and out.

“Are you ready to continue, or should we stop?”

“No,” Patroclus gasps. “I can continue. Why?”

Mr. Chiron nods. “I spoke to Mr. Priam, and he showed me some of your work in his class. I take pride in making sure I understand my students, and when I hear your music, and look at your work, I understand two things, Patroclus. One, I see someone who’s cut off from the thing he most wishes to do, and two, I see someone who’s been hurt.”

Patroclus tenses, squeezing his knees to his chest.

“Can you sing, Patroclus?”

He hides his face in his knees. “I can’t. I’m not allowed to.”

Given his loaded answer, Mr. Chiron takes a moment’s pause. Then he offers something else.

“Does playing the guitar help? I teach one on one classes for practice and composition after school twice a week, as well as one Saturday class; I would like you to attend.”

“I can’t afford lessons.”

“I did not ask that.”

Patroclus finds himself nodding. “Yes. I would like that.”

“Good. I’ll give you the schedule.” Mr. Chiron heads toward his desk to grab pen and paper. “Also, we have a great music theatre program here that could always use extra help around there with composition and songwriting when it’s time for performances.”

In a daze, Patroclus unravels himself, packing his things and walking to the front.

“Why are you helping me?”

Mr. Chiron doesn’t even look up as he writes down the details.

“Because, Patroclus, though I may not understand your traumas, I cannot bear to watch you suffer them alone. Music can serve as an outlet, a way to express feelings in a way we cannot otherwise. While I do not know what is stopping you from singing, if I can find a way to connect you with the music that you so clearly yearn for in another way, I will do that.”

Stunned, Patroclus pushes. “But how can you tell that?”

“You play the guitar as if you are singing. You learn the melodies, and you play them, but sometimes- and I’m not sure you notice- but when there are lulls in class, you play the melodies as if they are a voice, instead of just singing as you play.” Mr. Chiron hands him the paper. Scowling, Patroclus pockets it.

“That’s awfully specific.”

Shrugging, Mr. Chiron holds open the door. “I have no need to lie, especially to a child. I’ll see you tomorrow, Patroclus.”

With one last shady look, Patroclus scurries past the man. Whatever he was doing to hide his desire to sing, it clearly wasn’t working if Mr. Priam and Mr. Chiron could see it. If he weren’t careful, he’d end up slipping, and then it was all over. For a moment, he’s tempted to throw the piece of paper in his pocket in the trash and move on. _Who cares what these teachers think_ , he rants in his head. _I don’t need this!_

Yet he can’t make himself do it. The idea of getting help, of finding a way to release some of the lonely, ever-present stress in his mind is far more tempting than the idea of isolating any further.

When he swipes his dorm room open, Achilles and Antilochus both glance at him in relief.

“Where have you been, Patroclus?” Achilles demands imperiously “Never mind. Tell this fool that the scrambled eggs at the mess hall are not the pinnacle of dining. I can’t stand it any longer.”

Patroclus giggles. “Well, Achilles, we can’t all eat fish eggs on toast every day, can we?”

Antilochus waves dramatically in his direction. “Exactly. And with Pat’s vote, you lose. Thank you, Pat!”

Scoffing, Achilles moves out of Patroclus’ way so that he can put his things away and sit on the floor. When Antilochus goes to grab something from his room, Achilles lays across his lap, scanning Patroclus’ face with a gentle expression.

“You’re smiling at something.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” 

“I did. If it’s me, you can tell me. My mom says I stun any and all onlookers.”

Smirking, Patroclus palms Achilles’ eager face away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr!
> 
> P.s.- fun fact, I was gonna have Bri sing from "Hercules", but I felt like it was too on the nose 🤣


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